The gentleman with the businesslike air was all I wanted to see, and I laid low as I could and slapped Shylock along the neck, and told him to bestir himself.
He did.

We skimmed up that trail like a winner on the home--stretch, and before I had time to think of what lay ahead, I saw that fence with the high, board gate that was padlocked.

Right there I swore abominably--but it didn't loosen the gate.

I looked back and decided that this was no occasion for pulling wires loose and leading my horse over them.

It was no occasion for anything that required more than a second; my friend of the rope was not more than five long jumps behind, and he was swinging that loop suggestively over his head.
I reined Shylock sharply out of the trail, saw a place where the fence looked a bit lower than the average, and put him straight at it with quirt and spurs.